


i'll see you with your laughter lines

by owilde



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Dialogue Light, F/F, Fix-It, Future Fic, Post-Canon, Romance, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, i got one hour of sleep and now i'm sad about everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 18:47:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15712962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owilde/pseuds/owilde
Summary: After everything, Chloe and Rachel take off.All Arcadia Bay's given them is pain, anyway.





	i'll see you with your laughter lines

**Author's Note:**

> amberprice honestly makes me cry so much ssfvhf so yeah i wrote a short thing
> 
> title taken from Bastille's "Laughter Lines" (which also makes me cry)

Rachel’s hair is almost golden as the sunlight hits it just right through the car window. She’s tucked it behind her ears, showcasing her bright blue earrings – the feathers, the ones that look expensive and real and so very _Rachel_. Chloe’s spend a lot of time staring at those earrings in the early mornings. She tends to wake up first, out of the two of them. She’d like to say she’s just an early bird, but it would be a lie, and Chloe’s trying out this whole honesty thing, now. So, the truth of it is that when she closes her eyes, she sees William, and she sees Jefferson, and she sees fire and smoke and feels shards of glass push into her skin, hears a shutter go off and feels a blinding light on her face – and Chloe would rather be up at five than spend a second longer trapped in the clutches of her bullshit subconscious.

Besides, when she wakes up, the first thing she sees is Rachel curled up next to her, and Rachel tends to make her forget the shit in her dreams pretty fast.

They’re driving down the highway in Chloe’s pickup truck, speeding too fast beyond the limits. There’s a voice in the back of Chloe’s mind that whispers about accidents and plays a loop back of crashing metal, but the radio does its best to drown that out. Her desire to get the hell out of Arcadia Bay helps, too – the faster she drives, the further away they get, and as the miles increase, the knot in her chest eases. The sooner they get out of Oregon, the better.

Rachel has her feet propped up. She’s wearing the red and white woolen socks Chloe got her for Christmas last year, the ones with small golden stars on them. She’s staring out the window at the trees passing by with a peaceful expression, but Chloe figures she’s going through the same inner turmoils as she is. Rachel’s never been good at wearing her heart on her sleeve, but Chloe knows her, knows her better than anyone, and therefore can take an educated guess at just how fast Rachel’s mind is spinning right now.

They’ve talked about leaving for so long, it sort of became meaningless. Their Santa Monica dream had gotten fainter by the day as Rachel got stuck in school, and Chloe got stuck in being stuck. Arcadia Bay was safe – it was easy. It was, at least somewhat, home. And no matter how much they both talked and ranted and raved, home was something that was hard to let go.

They talked until their plans became muddle, their funds dwindled and their passion fizzled. They talked, and talked, and then they stopped.

And then Mark Jefferson happened.

Chloe knows Rachel needs to see a professional. She’s done research in advance into psychiatrists in Los Angeles, and has a few numbers scribbled in her notebook. Rachel won’t talk to her, fine, but Chloe will be damned if she doesn’t talk to _someone_. She feels stupid for trying to force recovery from something that seems immovable, but Chloe’s never liked to let things simmer. If there’s a problem, it should be fixed. Right now, the problem is Rachel’s tendency to withdraw and get quiet and a multitude of other things that make Chloe bite her fingernails. The way to fix it is to make her confront things. Or, that’s how Chloe sees it, anyway.

She hopes Rachel will agree. Maybe they could go together. Chloe thinks that's appropriately messed up for the two of them.

They pass a sign that says _LEAVING OREGON – WE’LL SEE YOU SOON!_

Rachel turns her head to watch as the sign falls behind them, her neck craned. When she turns back around, there’s a small, satisfied smile on her lips.

“Bye bye, Oregon,” she sing-songs, and sighs contently.

It’s the first time either of them’s spoken in almost four hours. Chloe lets out a breath she feels she’s been holding ever since she was born.

“Won’t fucking miss you,” she adds, and eases the pedal slightly. The air feels different.

“I’ll miss _some_ things,” Rachel says. “And so will you, don’t try me.”

She’s right. Chloe already feels a quiet ache in her chest for her mom, for their old house and for the one she shared with Rachel, for the junkyard. Even the places that hurt had something to give. She’ll miss the small dent in her wall right above where she used to sleep, with Rachel curled up next to her. She’ll miss the creak of the floorboards. She’ll miss sitting by the lighthouse and staring into the sunset, feeling temporarily infinite and yet so fleeting.

She’ll miss Max.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, swatting gently at Rachel. “I’m not the badass we all want me to be, I get it. Poor Chloe has fluffy feelings, too. Can we change the channel?”

Rachel smiles knowingly. She has her head tilted against the backrest so that she can look at Chloe properly. Chloe’s never felt scrutinized under her gaze. Rachel looks at her like she’s something precious, something to cherish; like she’s something worth looking at, and while sometimes it feels too much, it’s still never enough.

“Poor fluffy Chloe likes to tell me how much she loves me every half an hour,” Rachel reminds her. “Poor fluffy Chloe has a notebook full of pictures of us, along with my handwritten notes and old concert tickets-”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Chloe interrupts emphatically, but she’s smiling, too. “I’m a sap, we’ve been over this. But seriously, can we change the channel? We’ve been listening to fucking country for hours.”

“I love how irritated you get from listening to country,” Rachel says airily, but she reaches over to tune the radio anyway. “Pop? Oh, fun, this one plays religious hymns.”

“Pop’s fine,” Chloe says, hoping the edge of desperation in her tone is enough to convince Rachel that they shouldn’t listen to religious hymns for the rest of the journey.

“Pop it is,” Rachel agrees, and settles back into her seat.

They continue to drive in pleasant silence. It’s a little past midday, and they still have almost ten hours of driving to cover. Rachel suggested they stop at a motel at the halfway point, but Chloe was adamant. She needs to make this journey now, in one swift motion, like ripping a band-aid off. If she stops, she might turn back.

If she lets her mind settle down, Chloe knows where it’ll end up. It doesn’t matter what she’s thinking about – it will always circulate back to Max.

Max, who’s stuck in Arcadia Bay, for once the one who gets abandoned. Chloe feels bad for thinking like that, but she can’t help but feel a little twinge of satisfaction, too. She hopes Max will understand, now, years too late, what it was like. To be so alone.

Except, of course, Chloe will call her weekly. She’ll snapchat her stupid pictures of Rachel and their new apartment and their pets, and she’ll text her daily reminders to take her meds, and she’ll forward her emails about potential colleges in Los Angeles. She’ll reach out, because Chloe will always need to reach out to Max in some way.

She thinks maybe she’s in love with her, too. She thinks Rachel knows, and doesn’t mind. She thinks that Max is an oblivious idiot, who needs to see proof of feelings in black and white fine print with a date and a signature before she can accept, much less do anything about it.

Chloe contemplates writing an actual legal document as a joke, but dismisses the thought. She’ll need to explain things herself, through actual verbal communication. But none of that can happen before Max gets herself over to Los Angeles, which could happen anytime between tomorrow and three years from now, so Chloe doesn’t give it that much thought.

She’s always missing Max, just like she’s always missing Rachel, even when she can hear her breathing next to her or when she's holding her hand or kissing her. Chloe is made for missing people, but right now it feels more poignant. It’s a sharp ache in her chest, a feeling she can’t get rid of.

As if sensing the invisible shift in the atmosphere, Rachel reaches out and twines their fingers from where Chloe’s free hand is resting by the gear shift. She feels warm and familiar; Chloe lets herself soak in the love she feels, and tries to forget about Max for a while.

“Chloe?” Rachel asks quietly. Her eyes are trained on Chloe’s side profile.

“Yeah?” Chloe asks back, glancing at Rachel. She’s so beautiful and alive - the ache in her chest deepens. This time, it’s a bittersweet ache. Rachel’s here. Rachel’s hers. She’s so goddamn lucky, and Chloe thinks she’ll be paying back for the rest of her life over the fact that she got someone like Rachel in her life.

Rachel squeezes her hand, and smiles. “I love you.”

The reply of, “I love you, too,” has already become a reflex. Chloe will never get tired of saying it. She loves Rachel. Rachel, who’s here, now, driving to Los Angeles with her like she always said she would. Maybe things aren’t like they thought they’d be. Maybe they’re broken and need a little fixing.

That’s fine. They’ve got their whole life ahead to do that.


End file.
